


Cops and Robbers

by Shiny_n_new



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Kidnapping, M/M, Non-Consensual Drug Use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:40:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2675909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shiny_n_new/pseuds/Shiny_n_new
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Gordon missing, Harvey accepts Oswald Cobblepot's help to find him.</p><p>He wasn't anticipating Cobblepot's weird murderous crush on Gordon, but here they are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place before the "Lovecraft" episode. Written for this prompt at GothamKink: http://gothamkink.dreamwidth.org/551.html?thread=31527#cmt31527

Jim had been missing for 46 hours when Oswald Cobblepot strolled into the GCPD bullpen as bold as brass. By that point, Harvey was only awake because of the coffee he’d been mainlining and the anger churning in his gut. That anger kicked into overdrive when the little fucker who had completely upended his life walked up to Jim’s desk and sat down in the chair like he belonged there.

“You’ve got five seconds to stand up and shuffle your ass out of here, or I’m having you arrested,” Harvey growled. He did not have time for this little shitstain, not right now.

“On what charges, Detective Bullock?” Cobblepot asked, with that smug little smirk that was practically begging to be punched.

“I’m sure I can come up with something. Alan and Montoya ain’t here to hold your hand and protect you right now.” Harvey swallowed and gritted his teeth. “And neither is Gordon.”

“Ah, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about,” Cobblepot said. “I’m here about Detective Gordon.”

“Gordon’s none of your business,” Harvey snapped. The morning before what should have been their blaze-of-glory suicide mission, Jim had talked about being marched down to Maroni’s restaurant to confirm Cobblepot’s story to the Don himself. It had not escaped Harvey’s notice that every time Cobblepot turned up, bad things happened to Jim. 

Granted, bad things that he’d been a part of, but that was…well, things were different now.

“I disagree,” Cobblepot said, spinning gently back and forth in Gordon’s chair. “Detective Gordon has been kind to me. He’s saved my life twice now. I’d like to repay him.”

“No. Get out. Do you think I’m fucking new at this?” That was how the mob worked, whether it was Falcone or Maroni or goddamn Al Capone running the show. Cops did a favor for them, something small, like overlooking a dealer or tipping them off about a raid. They made a lot of noise about wanting to repay the debt, keep things squared up, etc. Anyone dumb enough to fall for it suddenly found themselves blackmailed twelve ways to Friday and in deeper than ever before. Harvey wasn’t going to let that happen to Jim. The last thing that little lunatic needed was to be beholden to Oswald Cobblepot.

“No, you’re a well-known piece in the game,” Cobblepot said. His nervous, eager-to-please demeanor dropped away suddenly, revealing something much colder and meaner underneath. “You made your loyalties very clear when you threatened to kill Detective Gordon if he didn’t kill me.”

Oh, hell no. Harvey might have been behaving himself lately, but he wasn’t about to let some little punk think he had the upper hand. He leaned over the desk and sneered, “Kid, if I’d had my way about it, Gordon would have been icing his face at home while I marched you off that pier. And unlike him, I don’t have any sympathy for snitches who are stupid enough to get caught.” Harvey leaned back and spread his hands. “But Falcone was insistent, Jim’s a bleeding heart, and you can apparently hold your breath for a while. So here we are.” 

“Here we are,” Cobblepot echoed. He tapped his fingers against Jim’s desk a few times. “Do you have any leads on Gordon’s location? Two days is a long time to be missing.”

“Oh yeah, sure, tons of them. They’re all filed right here under ‘Get out of my sight before I break your leg.’ Want to see?”

Cobblepot sighed, like a kindergarten teacher whose class would not stop coloring on the walls. “You make things very difficult, Detective Bullock. I’m only trying to help.”

“I don’t want your help,” Harvey growled. A thought occurred to him, and he let his hand drop to where his gun was holstered. “If you’re here to tell me your boss has Jim, then let me just say, you’re terrible at delivering ransom messages.” 

“Mr. Maroni has no idea where Gordon is,” Cobblepot said, and something close to irritation flashed across his face for a second. “Neither do any of his associates. I’m here on my own behalf.”

“That’s sweet.” Harvey pointed to the door. “Get out.”

With another frustrated sigh, Cobblepot stood up. “The hard way it is, then. See you soon, Detective.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harvey yelled after him. “Hey!”

But Cobblepot was already gone, limping out the door. Harvey hissed through his teeth and turned back to the papers in front of him, determined not to let Cobblepot rattle him.

Jim hadn’t turned up for work two days ago. It wasn’t unusual for Jim to be late (usually because he was sticking his nose where it didn’t belong), but for him to not show up at all was weird. Harvey had spent the entire day on edge as the feeling that something was very wrong grew stronger and stronger. He’d swung by Jim’s place to find the door locked, and then stopped by Barbara’s swanky penthouse to see if maybe she and Jim were having day-long make-up sex. The penthouse was locked too. By six o’clock that evening, Harvey had finally become worried enough to ask Montoya for Barbara’s number. 

Christ, that had been awkward for everyone involved.

When Barbara had no idea where he was, that was enough to make Harvey ask the techies at the station to use GPS to find Gordon’s phone. They’d tracked it to the alley outside Barbara’s place, and Harvey had found it under a Dumpster. Not a promising sign.

Security footage from the café across the street had revealed exactly what Harvey didn’t want to see: Jim Gordon being shoved into a black van by several masked men. They hadn’t gotten a license plate number, and the van had no identifying marks.

That had been a day ago, and Harvey was no closer to finding Jim. It wasn’t a question of figuring out who’d want to hurt him, because it seemed like half the city had some reason to be pissed off at him. At this point, Harvey was tempted to started pulling other cops into the interrogation room, but he decided to save that for when he had a little more evidence. No need to get the bullpen riled yet.

At least Essen would be on his side. She’d taken a shine to Jim after that clusterfuck with Zsasz.

Would Fish help him? Things between them had gone sour, to say the least, and God knew she had reason to want Jim dead. But maybe-

The phone rang, startling him out of his thoughts. He realized he’d been staring unseeing at the files in front of him for nearly twenty minutes. Rolling his neck, Harvey reached out and grabbed the receiver.

“Bullock. What’s up?”

There was silence for a moment, and then a nervous laugh. “I-it’s Edward Nygma.”

Harvey raised an eyebrow. “Ed, why the hell are you calling me instead of just climbing two flights of stairs?”

“Um, I, um, wanted to talk to you a-about Detective Gordon.” 

Harvey straightened, clutching the edge of his desk. “Has forensics found anything?” They’d searched the penthouse out of blind hope that maybe a clue might turn up. Harvey had figured it for a waste of time, but maybe they’d finally gotten lucky.

“Um, no, n-not yet. But I had an idea and, uh, was wondering if you could come down a-and meet me in the autopsy room?” Ed sounded even flightier than usual, possibly because he knew Harvey was not dealing with interruptions well right now.

“No, I hate that place. Creepy as hell. You come up here.”

“Detective, _please_ , you need to come down here.” There was a pause, and he could hear Ed swallowing. “I-I have everything set up here, I can’t move it.”

“God, fine,” Harvey groaned, pushing away from the desk. “I’ll see you in a minute.”

Harvey hated the basement. He especially hated the creepy antiseptic smell that drifted out from the morgue and the forensics lab. It reminded him of the hospital, and he was not a fan of hospitals. And no matter how many people were down there, the place always seemed abandoned. That afternoon, it really was abandoned. The equipment was running quietly in a few of the labs, but none of the techies were anywhere to be seen. He was glad by the time he got to the autopsy room, because at least that meant human company. 

Harvey shouldered open the door, muttering, “This had better be legit and not another-”

“Close the door, Detective.”

Harvey froze, not quite processing what he was seeing. Oswald Cobblepot was standing behind Ed, pressing a gun to his temple with casual menace. Ed was duct taped to a chair, glasses askew and looking about three seconds away from shitting himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, he said he’d kill me if I didn’t call you, I didn’t know what to do,” Ed babbled, jerking his arms and legs against the tape helplessly.

Cobblepot cocked the gun and smiled cheerfully. “Hello again. I think I told you to close the door, please.”

“All right,” Harvey said, nodding and moving very slowly and deliberately. He shut the door behind him and kept his hands visible. “I’m cooperating, yeah? Why don’t you back off of Ed?”

“Unload your gun and slide it over here, and I will.”

Wincing, Harvey unholstered his gun, took out the clip, and slid it across the floor until it thunked against Ed’s chair. This wasn’t a crisis, not yet. He was bigger than Cobblepot by at least seventy pounds; he was sure that if push came to shove, he could give Ed enough time to get away safely and get help.

“Good, good, thank you very much.” Cobblepot turned the gun away from Ed’s temple and took his finger off the trigger. But he didn’t put the gun away, instead resting it on Ed’s shoulder while he spoke. “I tried to be civil about this, Detective Bullock, but you really left me no choice.”

“This is about Gordon?” Harvey asked, baffled. 

“Of course it is,” Cobblepot said, his expression going intense and almost murderous. “Gordon is useful to me. He’s useful to all of Gotham, really, but he’s especially useful to me.”

What the hell had Jim gotten himself into with this little weirdo?

“Listen, I don’t know what kind of deal Jim’s made with you,” Harvey said, edging closer. Maybe he could knock Ed’s chair to the ground and tackle Cobblepot. “Whatever it is, I’m sure he’ll come through on it, but this isn’t-”

“Gordon hasn’t made any deals with me,” Cobblepot said, leaning against the back of the chair with no apparent concern for Ed’s personal space. “You of all people should know he isn’t the type to make deals with criminals.”

“Then what do you friggin’ _want_?” Harvey asked, frustration finally getting the better of him.

Cobblepot stared at him for a long moment, his jaw working as he thought. Finally, he said, “I can find Gordon for you.”

Harvey went still. No, no, this was a bad idea and he was only going to regret it. A bad idea, a terrible idea- “What do you want for that information?”

“Assistance with rescuing him,” Cobblepot said. “I’m afraid I’m not very skilled at fighting.”

Harvey gaped at him, because what the _fuck_? Since when did professional mob yes-men save cops _pro bono_? “Why are you doing this? What’s Gordon to you?”

“I already told you, Gordon is useful to me.” Cobblepot’s expression was hard and a little crazy. “He’s important to me.”

Harvey had no idea what to do with that statement, so he just nodded. “All right. Fine. You find Gordon for me, and I’ll get him back.”

“Good!” Cobblepot said brightly. He smiled and patted Ed on the shoulder. “Sorry about all of this, but you’re very stubborn, Detective Bullock. I needed to make you understand how serious a matter this was. I’ll be in touch.”

Harvey didn’t try to stop him as he skirted the edge of the room and disappeared out the door. He kept still he was until absolutely sure that the creepy little fuck was well and truly gone. Then he rushed to Ed’s side to reclaim his gun.

“You okay?” Harvey asked, pulling out his pocket knife and sawing at the tape binding Ed to the chair. “He smack you around or anything?”

Ed shook his head, looking rattled. “No, he just pointed the gun at me and tied me up. I’m so sorry, I tried to reason with him and he told me that if I didn’t stop talking and call you, he’d tape my mouth too and then shoot me.”

Harvey laughed despite himself, because he’d fantasized about taping Ed’s trap shut more than once. At Ed’s look, Harvey said, “Sorry. Not laughing about you getting shot. You’re the best forensics guy we have, even if you’re annoying as hell.”

“Thank you.” Ed preened a little, even though he was still tied to the chair. “I agree. I’m objectively the most skilled technician here and-”

“Did he mention anything else?” Harvey said, tearing the last bit of tape away from Ed’s arms. “Anything about why he’s even doing this?”

Ed went quiet (a miracle in and of itself) and stood up, rubbing at his wrists thoughtfully. After a minute or two, he said, “Sometimes I’m not very good with social cues.”

“Yes, painfully true, why are you telling me this?” Harvey asked. He did not have the patience to coax Ed through any post-hostage breakdown he might be having. He was barely staving off his own breakdown.

“I asked Mr. Cobblepot why he was involving himself in this case.” Ed glanced nervously at Harvey. “He said…he said that Gordon belonged to him. And I thought that seemed more intimate than was normal.”

Harvey patted Ed on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s weird as hell.” The possibility that Cobblepot might have some strange, psychopathic crush on Gordon hadn’t occurred to him, but it wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility. And it would explain a lot. “Listen, Ed, can you keep this all on the downlow? If he can actually find Jim…”

Ed nodded jerkily. “I want to do whatever I can to help Detective Gordon.”

“Atta boy.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, thank you all so much for your comments and kudos!

_One day earlier:_

Jim awoke slowly and reluctantly. There was a bright light shining in his eyes and his head felt like it was full of cement. He tried to sit up and get his bearings, only to discover that his wrists were restrained. That startled him fully into consciousness. He sucked in shaky breath and opened his eyes, squinting against the light shining down from somewhere high above him.

 _Look at your surroundings_ , ordered the instincts that had been drilled into him at boot camp all those years ago. _Are you in immediate danger?_

He was lying on a bed, that much was clear. It was soft and he could hear the slight creak of the mattress when he moved. As his eyes adjusted, Jim could see it was actually hospital bed, complete with leather restraints. His wrists and ankles were tied down, and no amount of wiggling was getting him loose. Jim tried anyway.

A brief twinge of pain made Jim crane his neck to see his hands. His eyes widened in horror. There was an IV line in his hand, and if he contorted a little, he could see the edge of an IV stand and the bag that was steadily dripping God knew what into him. Was he in the hospital?

No, definitely not. The floor below him was concrete, and he could tell that he was in some kind of very large space. His breath echoed back at him, rasping and loud. The light bulb directly above him was probably deliberate, then, designed to keep him mostly blind to whatever was happening in the dark space around him.

Well. No point in dragging this out. Jim licked his lips, swallowed, and called, “Hello?”

There was silence for a long time, and then the sound of footsteps. A man stepped out of the darkness and into Jim’s little circle of light. Jim took him in quickly, trying to get some measure of his captor. Roughly six foot, dark hair, dark eyes, probably southeast Asian descent. Jim didn’t recognize him, not even vaguely. 

“Who are you?”

“Who I am isn’t important,” the man said, his voice light and kind. “We are much more interested in you, James Gordon.”

Well, this was weird. And doubly not good, because it would have been easier to just talk his way out of someone crusading against cops in general rather than someone crusading against him.

“Do you work for Falcone?” Jim guessed.

The man made a disgusted expression and spit on the floor. “Scum, him and everyone like him. We do not represent the petty, greedy trash of Gotham.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” Jim asked, the part of him that loved mysteries taking interest for reasons that were not strictly survival.

“You’ll know soon enough,” the man said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “My master has taken an interest in you. We hear that you’re an honorable man, and my master has need of honorable men.”

“Is it because he’s not real honorable himself?” Jim sneered, rattling the leather restraints with a sneer.

The man smiled thinly. “My master is the most honorable of men, Mr. Gordon. Don’t ever doubt that. I apologize for the measures we have taken to keep you here, but it was necessary to ensure you would stay and hear my master’s proposal.”

“Let me go ahead and turn him down right now. Untie me.”

“I hope you will come around to our way of thinking, Detective,” the man said. “We want to make Gotham better, just as you do. To cleanse it of crime and filth and corruption. We are on the same side.”

“Not sure I want to be on a side that kidnaps people,” Jim said.

The man smiled again and nodded once. “Quite a lot of fire in you. I’m glad to see it.” He stood up from the bedside. “The IV is to keep you calm and relatively comfortable. As long as you don’t try to escape, you will not be harmed in any way. Think of this as a vacation, if you’d like.”

Jim stared at the man, considering. “Do you have a name?” It was a long shot, but then again, these were the same people who kidnapped a police officer in broad daylight. Maybe the man would give Jim something to go on once he escaped.

No such luck. “Call me Sam, if you need a name.”

It had the sound of a well-used alias. Jim nodded. “All right, Sam. You and your boss are going to regret doing this.”

Sam chuckled and turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he called. “Perhaps. But we’ve done this many times, and I don’t think you will be the one to stop us.”

Jim just snarled at the man’s retreating back, hating how helpless he felt. Sam’s receding footsteps became quieter and quieter, until Jim was alone. Or felt alone, anyway. He couldn’t see who might be watching him. He squinted out into the darkness, but the fluorescent bulb above him made sure his eyes could never quite adjust. He could see the edges of what might have been crates, and he was pretty sure the building he was in had a second floor because of what looked like railing. A warehouse, maybe?

Thank God there were only several thousand of those in Gotham.

Jim really, really wished he was handcuffed to a chair somewhere. He was good at getting out of handcuffs. Granted, he had to dislocate his thumb to do it, so maybe ‘good’ wasn’t the right word, but it could be done. He had no experience at all with these restraints. With time, he could figure something out, but he didn’t have time. Considering all the effort that Sam and his friends had gone through to get him, Jim doubted he was going to be allowed to wriggle around to his heart’s content.

This city. This fucking city.

An hour passed, then another, and Jim was no closer to squirming loose. Time to get creative.

He cleared his throat and called out, “Hey! Whoever’s out there! Unless you want me to piss in this bed, you need to let me up.”

There was silence, and it lasted for long enough that Jim started to worry that their game plan was actually to leave him tied up until they were done with him. But then he heard footsteps, and a guard emerged from the darkness. He was considerably taller than Sam had been, and looked to be about three hundred pounds of muscle. Not the ideal person to escape from, but Jim had never been one to wait around for ideal opportunities.

“You won’t like what happens if you try to run,” the guard said. He wasn’t carrying a gun, although Jim felt confident assuming that he was armed. 

“Okay,” Jim said, nodding and trying to look extremely agreeable. He wouldn’t get another shot at this.

The first snarl in his plan came when the guard loosened the restraints and Jim sat up, only to find the world spinning rapidly around him. The dizziness passed after a moment, and Jim took a deep breath before stepping carefully to his feet. His legs seemed steady enough, which was the first good news since he’d woken up.

“The IV stays in,” the guard said, before Jim had even had a chance to reach for the tape on his hand. The IV stand would probably work as a makeshift weapon, so Jim just nodded and grabbed it. The stand’s wheels squeaked slightly as he and the guard moved forward into the darkness.

Jim was pleased to see that his guess about being in a warehouse had been correct. It was empty aside from his little bed, which actually pretty creepy. They were keeping a very careful watch on him. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a tangle of metal catwalks running over his head and realized that there were guards up there as well. There were at least a dozen eyes on him, and Jim felt a shiver run down his spine. Whoever these people were, they were good at this.

The bathroom was a tiny, nothing but a walled-off space in the corner of the warehouse. There was no door. Jim flexed his shoulders, the rough outline of a plan forming quickly in his mind. He stepped forward into the bathroom, tugging the IV stand behind him. He waited until the guard was in the doorway before spinning quickly and kicking the IV stand hard. The kick drove the stand backwards into the guard, sending him crashing to the ground in a tangle of metal and plastic tubing.

It was enough to yank the IV line out of Jim’s hand, which sent a jolt of agonizing pain shooting up his arm. He didn’t let that slow him down, leaping over the guard and taking off at a dead run. He heard shouting above him, but no gunfire. They must have really wanted him alive, which was a nice change of pace.

Ahead of him, one of the guards leapt off the catwalk, apparently uncaring of the twenty foot drop below. Jim was honestly expecting the guard to land in a heap of broken bones, and his heart sank as the man landed gracefully instead. He didn’t have time for a fight, and he definitely wasn’t going to win if the other guards caught up to him.

With a shout, he threw himself towards the guard, planning to knock him down and keep running. Instead, the guard grabbed hold of him and Jim’s momentum sent them both tumbling to the floor. His elbow cracked hard against the concrete and Jim kicked instinctively, trying to dislodge the man on top of him. No such luck. The guard wasn’t much bigger than Jim, but he was enough to keep him trapped on the floor.

An arm wrapped around his throat and Jim knew for sure that his escape plan had failed spectacularly. The arm tightened, black spots danced in front of his eyes, and Jim was unconscious before he could even process that it was happening.

He awoke a few minutes later to find himself strapped to the bed again. Sam was standing at the foot of the bed, staring down at him with an amused expression that Jim found pretty fucking patronizing.

“A good effort, Mr. Gordon,” Sam said. “But you are no match for anyone in the League.”

“Fuck you,” Jim snarled, struggling furiously in the restraints. There was no give; if anything, the leathers had been made tighter.

Sam just laughed and rounded the bed, and Jim could see that he had an IV bag in his hands. Panicked, Jim glanced down at his hands to find the IV line back in place, despite the bruises already welling up from his escape attempt.

“This is a new mixture,” Sam explained, hooking the bag to the stand. “Sedatives, muscle relaxants, and concoction of our own that should make you calmer and a bit more agreeable.”

“Let me _go_!” Jim growled, kicking in frustration. “What are you even trying to accomplish here?”

“It’s very simple,” Sam said, not even bothering to look at Jim as he fiddled with the IV bag. “We’d like you to join us, Mr. Gordon.”

“Join you?” Jim laughed, incredulous. “You’re insane, you’re all completely insaaa…”

The rush of drugs from the new IV bag hit him suddenly, like a cotton-wrapped fist straight to his brain. Jim slumped back against the bed, blinking and trying to refocus his thoughts. It was hard, and grew increasingly harder as the drugs spread through him.

“Ah, good,” Sam said, stepping away from the IV bag. “The master will be here in two days, Mr. Gordon, and he will make you understand why we are the only way you will be able to save Gotham.” Sam patted him on the shoulder. “And if you still refuse, we will kill you. But don’t worry. It will be painless.”

Jim wanted to retort, wanted to tell Sam exactly what he thought of him and his master. But his mind was foggy and sluggish, his body oddly unresponsive. The most he was able to do was open his mouth and grunt angrily. Sam just smiled at him and turned away, moving into the shadows of the warehouse.

Staring helplessly at the IV bag, it occurred to Jim that he might be in real trouble.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone!

A day passed with no word from Cobblepot. Harvey tried not to be disappointed, because what the fuck had he expected? That the creepy little weirdo would swoop in with the power of the mob and drop Gordon on his doorstep? Things didn’t work like that.

Harvey still had no leads, and the only clues he’d managed to find were maddeningly vague. Word on the street was that people had been disappearing seemingly at random, turning up dead a day or two later as abruptly as they’d vanished. The GCPD had noticed the uptick in murders, but since all of the victims had been mob men or drug dealers, it had been mostly dismissed as typical criminal infighting. Several of Harvey’s usual contacts had been weirdly difficult to find, since most of them were staying off the street until whatever the hell was going on blew over.

He had no idea if there was any connection to Jim’s disappearance, but it was the only thing that stood out from Gotham’s general miasma of chaos.

By lunchtime, Harvey couldn’t stand the bustle of the police station around him, since all the activity was bringing him no closer to finding Gordon. He retreated outside to buy some falafel and brood. He was sitting on a park bench and staring at the pigeons when Cobblepot took a seat next to him.

“Good afternoon.”

“Oh, hey, sure you don’t want to take another hostage?” Harvey sneered. “It could make things fun.”

“Is it safe to assume that you haven’t found Gordon yet?” Cobblepot asked, sneering right back.

“Neither have you.”

“I may have.” Cobblepot turned to look at him fully. “What do you know about something called the League of Shadows?”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed. “The League of Shadows? They’re a terrorist group that operates out of Asia, mostly.”

“Terrorists?”

“Technically I think they’re classified as ‘eco-terrorists.’ Big on preserving Earth for future generations and rooting out corruption. So more like if Greenpeace and one of those government transparency organizations had a baby and the baby was on meth and really pissed off all the time.” Harvey scratched his chin. “You think they’ve got something to do with Gordon?”

“I’m not sure,” Cobblepot admitted. “A contact told me that they’ve been spotted in Gotham and were behind several disappearances. Another confirmed that some men matching their description rented half a block of warehouses.”

“Great.” Just what Gotham needed, their own terrorist cell. “But even if they’re the ones taking out crack dealers, there’s still no connection to Gordon. He got grabbed outside of his apartment, it’s not like he was undercover.” 

“You said they were anti-corruption,” Cobblepot said. “Maybe they’re under the impression that he’s working for Falcone?”

Harvey shook his head. “If they wanted to start killing dirty cops, there are way better targets than Gordon. He’s too new to the force. Besides, I think most of Gotham knows what a goody two-shoes he is, ever since you showed back up and proved he wouldn’t kill a snitch to save his-” A thought occurred to him, sudden and startling. “Shit. Oh shit.”

Harvey tossed his food to the ground and shot to his feet, running back to the station across the street. Behind him, Cobblepot was telling him to slow down, but Harvey wasn’t super concerned about the little bastard keeping up with him. Cobblepot knew where to find him. Inside the GCPD, Harvey burst into the records room, scaring the hell out of the mousy little woman who worked there. 

“Where are the files on the League of Shadows?” he demanded.

“Th-the most recent ones, or-”

“No, the ones from the sixties.” She pointed out a drawer and Harvey yanked an armful of folders out. Ignoring her increasingly distressed orders to fill out a form before taking the files, Harvey left the records room and its musty odor behind. By the time he reached his desk, Cobblepot was waiting for him.

“I told you to wait,” he said snippily. 

“Yeah, well, shouldn’t have goaded Fish into breaking your damn kneecap,” Harvey said, not even looking at him as he rooted through the papers. “Come on, they have to be in here.”

“What are you even looking for?”

“Aha!” Harvey spread the file out on his desk. “All right, so the League of Shadows has shown up in Gotham a couple of times before now. Their biggest hurrah was back in 1963. It was during the height of all the civil rights stuff, and I guess they decided to strike while the police were already busy. The exact totals are still unknown, but we guesstimate they assassinated about 40 people around the city. Sixteen of those people were cops.”

“Corrupt, I assume?” Cobblepot asked, leaning around Harvey’s arm to see the file.

“Dirty as they come, _except_ ,” Harvey tapped the file, “for these four. They had no known ties to any of the mob families, no Internal Affairs investigations, no complaints about extortion, nothing. But they still went missing. Now, two of them turned up dead a few days later, but it was different from the other League hits. The other bodies were left posed somewhere public, with a list of their sins or whatever pinned to them. They’d all been tortured to death. But the two clean cops were laid out under sheets in Sheldon Park, and they were only found because someone phoned in an anonymous tip. Cause of death was a gunshot to the back of the head, quick and clean.”

Cobblepot tilted his head curiously. “What about the two that weren’t found?”

“Steve Lowder and Greg Milstein,” Harvey said, flipping to their section of the file. “Now, no one’s ever found Milstein. But Lowder turned up in Jakarta in 1979. He was working for the League of Shadows.”

“Had he been working for them the entire time?”

“Technically, no one knows. He killed himself in police custody before anyone who spoke English could get over there to question him. But investigators started digging into his past and they found nothing connecting him to the League at all before his abduction. So they came up with a new theory. See, the League of Shadows just _takes_ people sometimes, and no one ever finds them. The cops thought maybe those people had actually been convinced to join the cause, and that was what happened to Lowder and Milstein.”

“And the people who refused to join them were killed to keep it all a secret,” Cobblepot finished. 

“Exactly. Now, there haven’t been a lot of squeaky clean cops in Gotham recently. Not until-”

“Gordon.” Cobblepot actually looked _worried_. The whole ‘weird crush’ thing was looking increasingly certain, and Harvey had no idea what to do with it. Thankfully, Cobblepot spared him from contemplating it by asking, “Do you think he would agree to join them?”

Harvey shook his head. “No way. He couldn’t kill you, or Richard Sionis, and you’re both guilty as sin. He’s not going to join up with a bunch of assassins.”

“He might already be dead, in that case.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Let’s find out with a SWAT team. Where did you say those warehouses were?”

***

In the dark, floating under a heavy cloud of drugged thoughts, Jim’s sense of time had all but vanished. He _felt_ like a long stretch of time had passed, but he also felt too stoned to sit up, so he wasn’t exactly trusting his body’s signals at the moment. 

It was like constantly have a word at the tip of his tongue or a memory just at the edge of his mind. He wanted to reach out and grab it, to force his thoughts into order, but the steady drip of the IV prevented it. Sam had come back once, to change the bag and shine a penlight into Jim’s eyes. Whatever he saw must have pleased him, because he’d patted Jim on the shoulder and told him it wouldn’t be long until ‘the master’ was here.

Jim had some choice words for Sam’s master, whoever the hell he was.

There was a crackle of static from somewhere above him and Jim’s eyes flicked listlessly to follow the sound. Walkie-talkie, most likely. He’d been hearing similar noises throughout his imprisonment, so the ‘League’ had probably established a perimeter around the warehouse they were keeping Jim in. They were checking in with each other, which meant they…they were…

The thought slipped away, as slick and intangible as mist. Jim thumped his head against the pillow in frustration. He had to hand it to these guys, their drugs were damned good at keeping a prisoner in place. What good was thinking of an escape plan when the thought would just scatter like leaves a few minutes later?

There was another crackle of static, and one of the guards responded in Chinese. Despite the language barrier, Jim could hear the worry in his voice. He took a deep breath and dug his thumbnail into the fleshy pad of his index finger, trying to use the pain to clear his head. Something unexpected was happening. He needed to…needed to-

From what sounded like very far away, Jim heard gunshots. 

On the catwalks above him, the guards shouted instructions at one another. He could hear them running, see the vague movements shadows within shadow. Jim grunted, twitched, called out, “What’s going on?”

There was no response, and the sounds of running tapered off. Was he alone? Had they left him to go deal with whatever was happening? This was the chance he’d been waiting for. Jim thrashed against the restraints, the creak of the leathers echoing back at him.

“Don’t move.” 

Jim heard the sound of a gun being cocked and went still.

One of the guards stepped out of the shadows and approached the bed, keeping his gun on Jim. “The master wants you alive. But if that is not possible, you will not live to tell our secrets.”

“Listen to me, you don’t have to do this,” Jim pleaded. He made sure to stare the guard straight in the eyes, to force him to acknowledge that Jim was person. Out of every tactic he’d ever been taught for defusing a hostage situation, eye contact still remained the most useful. “Sam hasn’t told me anything about who you are or what you want. I’ve got no secrets to tell.”

The guard simply stood at the foot of Jim’s bed, the gun pointed at Jim’s face. His eyes were cold and calm, like it was nothing at all for him to threaten a helpless hostage. He didn’t care that Jim was a person, and Jim knew with a sinking feeling that nothing he said was going to make a difference.

He was going to die in some filthy warehouse, even with help on the way.

The next few minutes were tense and silent, the distant echo of gunfire getting closer and closer. Even the drugs weren’t enough to stop Jim’s anxiety from spiking, and he knew he had to do _something_ , and do it fast. 

The walkie-talkie attached to the guard’s hip crackled.

Jim’s eyes widened in horror.

And then, with no fanfare at all, a shot rang out and there was a small, bloody hole in the guard’s forehead.

Jim stared, uncomprehending, as the guard slumped over and hit the floor with a dull thud. It took a second for his drug-addled mind to understand that there was someone else here in the warehouse with him.

“Hello?” There was no response. “Who’s out there? Hello?”

“Hello, Jim.”

Jim blinked in surprise, squinting out into the darkness. He recognized that voice. “Cobblepot?”

Cobblepot stepped forward into the circle of light, his expression fascinated. “I have to say, I was expecting a dark basement, maybe a whimsical homemade torture chamber. Not this.”

“Are you working with them?” Jim growled, jerking against his restraints. “Answer me!”

“Of course not,” Cobblepot said, approaching the bed. “I’m the one who led your police friends to you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“The police…let you come with them?” That couldn’t be right. Even drugged, Jim knew that couldn’t be right. Was he hallucinating?

Cobblepot laughed. “No. There’s a side entrance to the warehouse complex that I didn’t mention to them. I had to make sure they didn’t botch their rescue. You haven’t been here long enough to know how many times the SWAT team has gunned down bystanders.”

“What?” The sheer strangeness of it all finally hit Jim. Why would Cobblepot lead the police to him? Why would he help him at all? Keeping Jim out of jail had been a strategic move, nothing more. This was something else entirely. “Why are you here, why are you even helping?”

Instead of answering, Cobblepot just stared down at Jim, his gaze uncomfortably penetrating and curious. He poked at the IV line curiously. “What is this?”

“Sedatives,” Jim said, growing more worried the longer Cobblepot stood above him. “I dunno what kind. Some other drugs to, to make-”

Belatedly, he realized that shutting up would probably be a good idea.

“To make you what?” Cobblepot’s hand lingered on his, stroking the spot where the IV entered his skin.

“More agreeable, I guess.” The words just spilled out as Jim blinked up at Cobblepot. Maybe it was the relief of seeing a familiar face, even if that face was a criminal’s. “Calm.”

Something about that made Cobblepot smile. “And do you feel calm and agreeable, Jim?”

Jim bared his teeth. “Not really.” Outside, he could hear the gunshots getting closer and closer. He jerked in the restraints. “Untie me!”

“No,” Cobblepot said. He hadn’t looked away from Jim the entire time that they’d been speaking. “You’re safer like this. I wasn’t kidding about SWAT’s itchy trigger fingers, and you aren’t a popular man. And it occurs to me that this is one of the few occasions we’ve met that I haven’t been at a significant disadvantage. I have to say, I prefer it this way.”

“Untie me right now, or-”

Time seemed to skip just a little, because suddenly Cobblepot was kissing him. His lips were warm, slightly chapped, and enough to freeze Jim in place completely. What was happening? What was _happening_ -

“Apologies,” Cobblepot said as he pulled back, still hovering inches over Jim’s face. The kiss had been gentle, almost chaste, but Jim could still feel the imprint of it. “I just thought I might never have the chance to do that. _Carpe diem_ and all that.”

The dead guard’s walkie-talkie crackled again, a panicked stream of Chinese flowing from it. Cobblepot sighed. “I believe that’s my cue to go. I’ll be seeing you, Detective.”

He turned on his heel as if nothing strange had happened at all, shuffling into the darkness. The only sound in the warehouse (besides Jim yelling for him to come back and untie him, damn it) was the tap-tap-tap of the umbrella he was using as a cane.

Once he was gone, Jim was alone in the dark again, with only his confused thoughts and the ever-increasing sound of gunfire to keep him company. When he heard the telltale noise of a door being kicked in, it was music to his ears.

“I’m over here!” he yelled, although they could probably see him just fine. He was practically under a spotlight.

Three members of the SWAT team stepped into the light to stare down at him. They were dressed completely in black, their faces hidden behind thick goggles and balaclavas. They said nothing at all as the seconds crawled past. Instead, they just kept staring at him with their fingers on the triggers of their assault rifles. Jim felt a bolt of angry fear run down his spine. Had Cobblepot been right? Just how unpopular was he? But then there came the welcome sound of shouting and Harvey Bullock was elbowing his way through the SWAT team.

“The hell are you three gawking at?” Harvey snapped at SWAT team. “Go fan out and search the perimeter or whatever shit you do.”

“I’ve never been so glad to see your ugly mug in my entire life.” Jim was nearly laughing, unable to keep the smile off of his face. The drugs might also have been a factor. But God, was he glad to see Harvey.

“Ugly mug? Me and my handsome face are tempted to just leave you tied up here,” Harvey said, but he was smiling from ear to ear. The smile faded a little as he stared at the IV stand. “What is this? Are you hurt?”

Jim shook his head. “No. Been drugged. They upped the dosage after I tried to run.”

Harvey sighed mournfully and went to work on the leathers around Jim’s wrists. “Only you would get to sit on a comfy bed and get stoned after being kidnapped and then have the nerve to complain about it.”

Jim laughed again and stretched extravagantly once he was freed completely. His control over his limbs wasn’t great, but it beat being tied down by a long shot. Speaking of which…With a wince, he slid the IV line out of his hand. The hole it left behind bled sluggishly, and he pressed the corner of the blanket against it. 

“All right, I’m-” He tried to sit up and failed. His arms wouldn’t flex, his back wouldn’t stiffen. “Damn it.”

“Here, I’ve got you.” Harvey propped Jim up and let him lean against his shoulder. They sat side by side on the bed as Jim tried to regain some control over his body.

“Thanks.” Jim squinted out into the warehouse, listening to the reassuring sounds of the SWAT team sweeping it over. He could see flashlight beams dancing in the dark. “Where the hell am I?”

“Warehouse off Dixon Docks,” Harvey said. He turned to get a better look at Jim. “Do you know who took you?”

“They said they were part of ‘the League’.” 

“The League of Shadows, yeah.”

“The League of Shadows?” Jim blinked, confused. “I guess that would explain why they seemed really…ninja-ish. What did they want with me?”

“Good question,” Harvey said. His eyes narrowed. “Better question: why was Oswald Cobblepot the one who helped me find you?”

“Oh.” So Cobblepot hadn’t been lying about that. He wasn’t going to tell Harvey about the kiss. He wasn’t going to tell Harvey about _any_ of it, not until the drugs wore off and he could figure out what the hell to do. “I don’t know. Ever since I saved him, he’s been kind of…fixated on me, I guess.”

“You guess,” Harvey snorted. “I don’t approve of your boyfriend, Jimmy.”

“Bite me.” Jim pushed up and off the bed, taking a moment to balance himself. Standing felt like dangerous business, and he has a sudden sympathy for newborn deer.

“You’re gonna fall on your face,” Harvey said, not sounding the least bit sympathetic.

“I’m fine. Watch.” Jim took a step forward. Or tried to take a step forward. His knees buckled under him like rubber and he tumbled forward.

Harvey caught him before he hit the ground, hauling him back onto the bed. “You’re an idiot. Just sit there, enjoy your high, and wait for the EMTs.”

Jim let himself lean against Harvey again. “Yeah, okay. Okay.”


	4. Chapter 4

“So Barb is really letting you live in her fancy clocktower even though you two are officially on the outs, huh? Sweet of her. Oh wow, is that a wine fridge?”

Jim didn’t bother moving from where he had sprawled face down on the couch. His one concession was turning his head so that he wasn’t speaking directly into the pillow when he said, “You raided it last time you were here, along with your ladyfriend.”

“Ah, the Duchess.” Harvey sounded downright wistful. “She says hi, by the way.”

Jim just grunted. After spending three days sedated and half-asleep, he had figured it would be impossible to be tired again for at least a week. But that was before he’d been interviewed by what felt like half the GCPD, as well as people from the FBI, CIA, and the Department of Homeland Security. He never wanted to be kidnapped by terrorists again; it was a goddamn paperwork nightmare. And the worst part was that they were still out there.

“Go to bed, Jim. I’ll play watchdog and eat your food.”

That was enough to make Jim sit up, at least. Harvey looked _terrible_ , like he hadn’t slept the entire time Jim was missing. The bags under his eyes were so dark that they looked like bruises.

“You go to bed,” Jim said. “Seriously, when’s the last time you slept?”

“Eh, I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

“That’s gonna be sooner rather than later if you walk into traffic because you’re too tired to pay attention.”

Harvey was wearing his stubborn face, which was different from his usual scowl because there tended to be concern behind it. Not that he would ever admit it. Jim stood up, wincing at the _pop-pop-pop_ of his spine cracking.

“Harvey, look, have you already threatened whatever poor beat cops are assigned to the street level of the building?”

“Duh, of course. Threatening beat cops is what makes me happy, you know that.”

“I do. So let’s assume you’ve put the fear of God into them and they’ll do a decent job of keeping any ninjas out of the building. That way, we can both get some sleep, yeah?”

Now Harvey was making his ‘you’re a fucking idiot’ face, which was a lot more familiar to Jim. 

“And you can raid the wine fridge whenever you want if you just go home and sleep.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Harvey said. With a sigh, he clapped Jim on the shoulder. “Fine. But you so much as see a weird shadow, you call down and get the SWAT team up here.”

Jim wanted to tease the hell out of Harvey for being such a mother hen (who would have guessed?), but he suspected that would result in Harvey staying to guard him out of spite. After a few more reassurances, he managed to shoo his partner out the door. Then he sank to the floor, enjoying the feeling of being gloriously, blissfully alone for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

A shower made him feel almost human again. Jim was midway through demolishing a box of cookies when someone knocked on the door. He let out a pathetic groan and strongly considered just not answering it. He was tired, dead tired, and dressed in ratty sweatpants and a not-especially-clean tank top. Maybe he could just play possum until they went away?

There was another round of knocking, a little sharper this time. Jim sighed and pushed himself up from the table. It was probably one of the beat cops checking in on him. He shouted something like, “All right, I’m coming!” and slogged towards the door. The sooner he got this over with, the sooner he could actually sleep.

Waiting on the other side of the door was Oswald Cobblepot.

Jim instinctively tried to slam the door, but Cobblepot managed to get an elbow in before it could close completely. A muffled “ow!” made Jim hope that maybe Cobblepot would pull his arm back, but it stayed stubbornly in place.

“Go away!” Jim hissed. He was not in the mood to deal with this. There was a decent chance that he would never be in the mood to deal with this. He remembered Cobblepot’s lips on his, the way his shadow had blotted out the fluorescent light.

“I just want to talk!”

“I don’t!”

“I saved your life.” Cobblepot was glaring at him through the crack in the door, eyes glinting.

“And I saved yours twice already,” Jim snapped. He considered slamming the door down on Cobblepot’s arm again, but no, that wouldn’t be right. Cobblepot hadn’t done anything to warrant getting his arm broken. “Go _away._ ”

“Please, all I want is ten minutes.”

Jim let his breath hiss out through his teeth. Ten minutes. He could do ten minutes, if it meant Cobblepot would leave him in peace. He pulled the door open, making sure his face reflected just how irate he felt. “Fine. You have exactly ten minutes.”

Once his arm was free, Cobblepot wasted at least twenty seconds of his ten minutes straightening his clothing. Jim was planning to leave the door open, to better emphasize how much he wanted his guest to be gone, but Cobblepot shut the door behind him and fixed Jim with a polite little smile.

“I take it Barbara isn’t home.”

“Wow, all right, your ten minutes just expired.”

“I was just making sure we’re alone,” Cobblepot said, holding up his hands to ward Jim off. After a moment of consideration, he stepped closer to Jim. Closer than was normal or comfortable, in fact. “You’re being watched.”

“Apparently not closely enough, since you managed to get up here.” Man, he was not looking forward to telling Harvey that he’d been right. There would be no living with him at all.

“The police are looking for assassins, not mobsters, but they aren’t the only ones watching you.” Cobblepot reached out carefully, resting his hands on Jim’s shoulders. Jim raised an eyebrow. “The League is still monitoring you.”

“I figured as much.” Jim said, though he’d been hoping maybe the SWAT team shooting three of their men dead would be the firm ‘no’ the League of Shadows apparently required.

“They’ll be curious how the police found you,” Cobblepot said, stepping even closer. Jim knew he needed to step back, to reassert some control over this situation. But he really had no idea what was going on at all. “They’ll be wondering if maybe you’re a little dirtier then they knew.”

“And so why are you here?” They were close enough that he could fell Cobblepot’s breath on his face and smell the mint from his toothpaste.

“To confirm it for them.” Cobblepot leaned forward, closing the tiny distance between them to press his lips against Jim’s.

Just like before, Jim froze. His body was in full deer-in-the-headlights mode, caught somewhere between fleeing and fighting and…and something else, something he couldn’t quite articulate. This was wrong, this was _wrong_ , but all he could do was fist his hands in the fabric of Cobblepot’s sleeves.

Cobblepot was a little bolder this time and this kiss was impossible to mistake for chaste. He pushed forward, tilting Jim’s head back a little. If he was bothered by Jim’s confused and angry lack of participation, he didn’t show it.

Finally, Cobblepot pulled back. Jim sucked in a breath of air, unaware that he’d been holding his breath the entire time. After a moment, Jim stepped back from Cobblepot and said, “That’s the last time you do that, do you understand me?”

Cobblepot just smiled. Instead of responding to what Jim had actually said, he answered, “If they think you’re involved with a criminal, they’ll leave you alone. Unless they decide to kill most of Gotham, but I think you’ll have bigger worries if that happens.”

“Cobblepot,” Jim growled, “whatever this is, whatever…game you’re trying to play with me? It stops now.”

“You say that,” Cobblepot said, stepping back towards the door, “but I think you’ll change your mind. You’ll see, Detective. I’m going to claw my way to the top, and you’ll be glad that we’re friends.”

“Get out of here.” Jim’s hands curled into fists. If Cobblepot didn’t leave voluntarily, he was going to be physically thrown out.

Cobblepot just nodded and smiled a little wider, turning and leaving the apartment with no fanfare at all. He even shut the door behind him, leaving Jim alone with his thoughts and the paranoid sensation of being watched.

This goddamn city was going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oswald isn't going to lose the chance to get one more kiss in. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it!


End file.
